Ruled

by Anne Marsh

  Rev

  I should kiss her.

  Trot out all the tricks I’ve learned from fucking too many women on too many different nights. Give her the orgasms she’s all but begging for and mark her as mine. Somehow, though, the smooth, practiced moves disappear from my head and all I can do is enjoy being here with her, right now, right this moment. I’ve driven out to the lookout before, although I’ve never tapped ass here. Doesn’t take a genius to know, however, that we need to get off the road for this. Don’t know why she’s suddenly so impatient, but I roll with it, carrying her down a small ravine. As soon as we’re out of sight of the road, I drop my saddlebag and shift her in my arms so I can peel my jacket off to use as a blanket. She’s working out of hers, too, so maybe we don’t end up with dirt where dirt has no business going.

  Her hands start on my shirt next, trying to get the hem up, but that’s not how I want this to go. So when she starts snapping out commands to go faster, get naked, do this, do that, I kiss her hard. My mouth covers her mouth, my lips parting hers, as I pour myself into the kiss. She tastes good, like mint and sweet tea. Fuck, maybe she tastes like sunshine or whiskey or any one of a dozen things, but I know one thing for certain. Evie’s my Kryptonite. I lay her down without breaking our kiss, planting myself between her legs, cupping her head between my hands as I bury my fingers in her pretty hair. I devour her, pressing my dick against her pussy as her legs wrap around my hips. Fuck, she’s greedy.

  Love that about her, even though the L-word isn’t one I trot out about sex or women.

  She swallows a moan when I finally tear my mouth away, leaning back. She’s wearing too many clothes and I need her naked. If I start tearing shit, however, we’re gonna have a problem with the drive back to Vegas. I’d enjoy the shit out of her riding naked behind me but we’d definitely attract attention. Plus, I bet that’s one of those hard limit things she mentioned. No Lady Godiva on my bike.

  “Don’t stop,” she orders, eyes half-closed. Her hands go to the waist of her jeans, unbuttoning and shoving the denim down. If I don’t hurry, she won’t wait for me. “You owe me an orgasm.”

  “Never broke a promise yet,” I tell her. She toes her jeans off, but her panties are mine. I tear them off her because they’re the cutest little thing—and my souvenir. Perfect spank bank material for later. Gonna wrap that silky blue-and-white scrap around my dick and rub one out—dessert to go, for later. I shove them in my jacket. My next step in this erotic battle we’re fighting has to be her tits.

  Fun fact of the day—Evie’s tits drive me crazy.

  I’ve jerked off to the fantasy of ripping off her shirt, tearing open her bra, and then ramming myself between her breasts, shoving my dick up the tight, sweat-slicked valley until my head hits her lips and she opens up for me. She swallows a moan as I make the first part of my multistep plan reality rather than fiction. I drag her shirt up, and then fuck it, I leave the cotton tangled around her arms, her wrists stretched over her head, braceleted in one hand of mine. Don’t need ropes when I’ve got her like this.

  Hot.

  Eager.

  And all for me.

  I unbuckle, unzip and shove my jeans down just enough to get my dick out.

  “Hurry,” she whispers as if she’s got a schedule, a plan, a time table in her head. Fuck doing this on Fast-forward when I could hit Pause and enjoy her for hours. I want her screaming my name, desperate for me, knowing exactly who has his hands, his tongue, his dick all over her sweet, needy body. If she has an itch to scratch, I’m in no position to judge—but I’ll make damn certain she knows who’s making her fantasies come to life.

  I drag the fingers of my free hand down her chest, between her tits, until I’m cupping her, my thumb teasing her nipples. She rewards me with a whimper.

  Not good enough.

  Her tits are fucking gorgeous, big enough to fill my palms but small enough that I can cup them. Lying on her back pushes her tits up and out, putting those sweet curves on display for me and I’m gonna need both hands to appreciate her right. I give her wrists a gentle squeeze. “Don’t move.”

  Her eyes narrow as her fingers tangle with mine. “Orders?”

  Woman’s a total back seat driver. We’ll work on that.

  “Yeah.” I lean down and give her another quick, hard kiss. “You got one job here and that’s to take what I’ve got to give you.”

  She shifts beneath me, stretching, making space for herself. “And what if I don’t like it?”

  “You’ve got words. Fucking use them.” Not as if she’s held back in the mouthy department before, so she can tell me if something I do fails to get her off. If I don’t make this good for her, I deserve everything she can dish out.

  Her fingers fall away from mine. “Okay.”

  “You want me dirty?”

  Guess she hears the challenge in my words because her eyes darken and flick down my body. No way she misses the bulge in the front of my jeans.

  “Yes. Touch me,” she demands. Doesn’t move her hands, though, so she definitely deserves a reward.

  “Hold your tits for me.”

  She shakes off her shirt, lowers her hands and squeezes her tits together around my dick. Love how she takes instruction. Since I first saw her, I’ve been fantasizing about getting her naked. Opening her up, putting myself inside her.

  I straddle her, bracing my hands on either side of her head. Spread out on my jacket, strands of her hair tease my fingers, wrapping themselves around me. There’s a lesson there. She’s the one who’s really in charge here.

  I wish I could draw this moment out forever, wish I could whip out my phone and snap a picture of her body welcoming mine. Fuck. She feels amazing. I drive forward, her tits hold me tight, and my eyes all but roll back in my head. Gotta get it together. Gotta do her right, make this good for her.

  And then she licks the tip of my dick.

  I give it to her harder, faster, pistoning my dick in and out of the snug channel she’s made for me. Fuck if I can hold back—or want to. I find a rhythm that makes my dick happy, the slick, tight grasp of her skin on mine pushing me higher, tighter, closer.

  “This work for you?” I whisper.

  She flashes me a grin. “Who wants his happy ending?”

  That’s all the warning she gives me before she sucks the tip of my dick into her mouth, the head disappearing beneath the perfect O of her lips. Fuck. Me. I’m hard as nails, rough as shit, and she opens wider, swallowing me down. I must look like some monster beast, crouched over her, fucking her mouth, and I don’t care. She lets me and I’m far too close to coming.

  Fuck happy endings—this is heaven.

  I bump against the back of her throat and she doesn’t tell me no—just groans and sucks harder like she loves the taste of me. I’m going to blow all over her face, mark her with my come. Her lashes drift down, hiding her eyes from me. Not sure what I expect to see to be honest, but looking at her is sexy as hell.

  Fuck this.

  I’m not coming until I’m balls-deep inside her, which makes it her turn.

  I drop and roll, pulling her over me. Her legs hug my face, her pussy planted above my mouth. She squeals, bracing herself on her arms. Guess she didn’t see that coming, but then she whimpers, her thighs trembling, and I cup her sweet little ass with my hands.

  “I’ve got you.”

  Let go.

  Let me.

  She asked for it dirty and I’m just giving her what she wants. Making sure she’s ready before I tap her. And because the taste of her is addictive and I’m not ready to be done. She relaxes in my grip and I part her with my fingers. Another whimper. A sexy-as-hell moan. Her pussy’s the prettiest shade of pink, her bush neatly trimmed into a dark arrow of soft hair. Not bare, not quite, just a fucking tease to look at.

  “Look at you.” I blow lightly, trailing my fingertip
s over her folds.

  “Rev—” She shudders.

  Yeah, she likes this.

  Bet she likes this even more. Bet I do, too. I lean in and get my first taste of her. I pull her wide and lick her slowly over and over. When she’s squirming, I suck her clit, alternating between the two until she’s gasping, her breath catching as I push her closer and closer to the edge. Her tits heave up and down, still wet from my kisses.

  I pull away before she comes, grabbing a condom and ripping the package open. Fuck finesse. I need to be inside her now. Playing dirty games doesn’t mean putting her at risk. I get the condom out, roll it down my dick and yank her down my body. Seconds later I’m pushing my way inside her body.

  Eve

  Rev’s monster dick opens me up.

  He’s big.

  It’s not like his proportions are a revelation. Deep-throating him wasn’t an option, so it’s no surprise it takes him long, fabulous, thank-you-Jesus minutes to work himself inside me. He’s not holding back, he’s giving it to me good, but he’s not in any rush, either. He doesn’t slam deep, doesn’t force my body to yield.

  He just waits me out.

  I soften around him—he moves deeper. Cause and effect.

  My legs open wider, hugging his hips, bumping into the ground, and he grunts, catching my knees with his palms. Putting himself between me and the dirt. I use my new leverage to ride him hard. I don’t want slow, I don’t want sweet and gentle. Fortunately, he’s in the mood to give me exactly what I want.

  He slams up and I meet his thrust, coming down hard. A shriek forces itself from my throat, but to hell with it. The sensation is so good. I feel him everywhere, inside, outside, in my head and right goddamned there between my legs. I brace my hands on his shoulders, and yes I dig in with my nails. We’re both going to bear marks tomorrow.

  “Eyes open,” he grunts when my lashes drift down. Not sure what he thinks I’m really looking at because right now all I can do is feel. And feel and feel.

  His eyes watch me, dark and intense with need and emotions I can’t interpret. He’s so different from anyone else I’ve done this with. He’s more in control of this, of us, than I like but it’s too late to stop, to step back, to hold off the orgasm building deep within me. He so wins this battle we’re fighting between us.

  “Come,” he orders, sliding a hand free to find and press my clit as he drives inside me. God. He fills me up. There’s no room left, so I do the only thing I can and come apart. I let everything go and scream with the pleasure, the desire, the feeling of fucking flying and flying, knowing he’s here to catch me. It’s too much, too everything—too fast and definitely too close.

  He grunts something, moving faster and harder, his hands grasping my hips and holding me tight. My head hits his chest, my face pressed against his sweat-slicked skin and I breathe him in as he pounds deeper, finding his own release. I lie there and let him do what he wants with me.

  God, he’s dangerous.

  And then I can’t think anymore because his fingers find my clit again and press and just like that I’m soaring, flying and fighting with him toward another release.

  Rev

  Christ. What just happened here?

  I wrap my arms around Evie, holding her tight, and try to figure out when dirty sex took a dangerous right-hand turn into something...else. Not sure what to fucking call it, but all I know is that I’m not done with her. She sags against my chest, her face buried against my skin, her hair tickling my nose.

  “Rev?” Her voice floats up at me.

  “Yeah?” I can feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. I’ll tell her whatever she wants to hear. Fucking gospel truth right there. She’s amazing. I run my hands over her bare skin. We need to find a bed stat because the shit I want to do to her, with her deserves that much.

  “You give good dirty sex,” she whispers, rolling off me and standing up. The. Fuck?

  I’m not done with her.

  Not even close.

  But she’s already pulling on her jeans, wiggling and tugging, zipping and buttoning. She’s not thinking about what else I could do for her. Now I’m just her ride back to Vegas, and maybe, if I did this right, a happy memory. I’m her been there, done that boy. Her past.

  She asked for dirty sex, so I’m not sure why I suddenly feel dirty. Yes, I’m her not-so-fucking-little secret and that part’s okay because it’s what I agreed to after all, but I’d also like to do her in a bed, and not some forty-buck-a-night motel, either. Satin sheets, fucking candles—the whole nine yards before I give her the twelve inches that has her name written all over it.

  Except she really doesn’t want that. Has to be a first in my life, that a woman doesn’t want a repeat from me.

  “Thanks,” she says and heads for my bike. Feels like she slapped me on the ass and sent me on my way.

  What the fuck just happened?

  Chapter Eight

  Rev

  SOME CLUB BROTHERS have permanent women in their lives, old ladies they love and protect. It’s a hell of a choice to make and not the kind of shit you can end in divorce court. The day your woman puts on your patch, you take 100 percent responsibility for her actions. She screws up—you pay. That takes more trust than there’s gold in Fort Knox. There’s nothing easy about being a woman in an MC. We’re ornery, protective, and don’t just demand respect—we fucking earn it. Play in our world and play by our rules. Not too many women can or will do it.

  My future holds no old lady.

  No keeper girl.

  Evie Kent is a blip on the radar, a pothole in the highway of life. We have no future together. She’s untouchable, off-limits, property-of-someone-else material. She made that perfectly clear when she banged my brains out and proceeded on her way as if taking my dick deep inside her meant absolutely nothing at all.

  She’s right.

  Abso-fucking-lutely correct.

  What went down on our ride was just sex—and not the reason my bike is parked across the street from her house when I could just order a prospect to watch her. Worse, I’m phone in hand, thumb poised to tap her name in my contacts.

  Rocker’s not on board with ditching the cartel. It will take weeks or months to straighten his shit out. On the other hand, sticking close to Evie will make it easier to discover Rocker’s plans. If the Colombian cartel makes a move on her, I’ll be in place. And what’s the easiest way to stay close?

  Make her believe I’m dating material not a quick bang.

  We all see the problem here, right?

  I don’t date.

  Ever.

  I am, for all intents and purposes, a dating virgin. Dating has the learning curve of nuclear physics—not the kind of shit you casually pick up over the weekend. Sure, fucking Evie Kent would rock, but I hadn’t been planning on date nights—or sexting, flirty looks and too-casual questions about the gals hanging at the clubhouse. Phone chats, shared plans and sleepovers? Also not on my to-do list.

  Yet here I am.

  Waiting on the curb.

  Her place looks real cute. No kids, no cats or dogs, but bright red flowers march up the walkway next to a stupid-ass have-a-nice-day flag. She grows roses and owns wicker furniture with matching goddamned pillows. My throat actually itches and starts to close up at all this happy Suzy Homemaker shit.

  Before I can text, she pops out, hauling a trash bag half her size. Her tiny cotton shorts don’t quite cover an ass that’s even sexier than I remember. The shorts are either way too small or they shrank in the wash. Or fuck me, maybe she chose them on purpose to drive me crazy.

  Her evil plan is definitely working.

  She flips open the trash can, going on tiptoe. The shorts get shorter—my view gets hotter. And yeah, I debate taking a picture since I have my phone handy. Decide against going all paparazzi on her ass because stalking i
sn’t wooing. She tosses the bag, slams the lid shut and starts back to the house.

  Stops.

  I am pretty hard to miss.

  Just in case she’s short-sighted, I waggle my fingers at her. She flips me the bird and marches into the house while my head replays every ass fantasy I’ve ever had.

  My phone buzzes.

  EVIE: You’re a stalker now too?

  ME: Just in the neighborhood.

  I tap the smiley face button in my message app. Turns out there’s a million little pictures you can add to your message, most of which make absolutely no sense. Who the fuck needs pictures of bananas or broccoli? I pick one and hit Send.

  And wait.

  Maybe she’s writing War and Peace. Or maybe she’s taking a nap. On her bed in those sexy little shorts. I imagine a half dozen ways to peel those shorts down her legs. As the minutes tick closer to a half hour, however, I run out of patience.

  ME: Should I apologize?

  I’m not sorry at all for fucking her when she gave me the green light, but if she needs to hear the words, I’ll give them to her.

  EVIE: You move fast

  If that’s a complaint, I can happily spend longer eating her pussy. I’m still typing my text message when UPS pulls up and Mr. Brown bounds out carrying an enormous pink box. He rings the bell, drops his load on the doormat and leaves. While my inner caveman rejoices he’s gone, the rest of me wants more service. This is my grand gesture, after all. I need delivery with a fucking mariachi band and a big bouquet of overdone from the florist. Fireworks and a rocket launcher. Your standard dating shit.

  ME: It’s safe

  EVIE: Not scared

  And because my Evie’s a doer and not just a talker, she yanks opens the door and stares down at the box. My dick promptly gets hard imagining what’s in the box. Her gaze finds me as the delivery truck pulls away.

  Yes, I ordered her stuff. I tore her panties off her. I owe her new ones. Plus, shopping’s hard to stop. I got started. Each picture I clicked on the website became my new favorite fantasy. If Victoria’s Secret let you drag your girl’s face over the model’s, they’d sell a shit-ton more underwear.